


Out of the Dark

by ancslove



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Anal Fisting, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e03 In The Dark, Love/Hate, M/M, Unresolved Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-18 15:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/pseuds/ancslove
Summary: Spike gets personal with Angel as he's looking for the Ring of Amara.  And old feelings rise to the surface.





	Out of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuciferxDamien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferxDamien/gifts).

“How does it feel, being on the other end of the torture rod, hmm?” 

Spike leisurely circled his captive Sire. Angel hung from the ceiling in chains, naked to the waist and with two cooling poker rods decorating his torso. It was a delicious sight. The only thing that would make it better would be adding some sound. Screams. Begging. Curses. Spike wasn’t particular. 

“Marcus may be a poncy bastard, but he does seem to know his stuff.”

Angel snorted, but otherwise kept his silence.

Spike tried again. “Too bad he’s got less of a sense of humour than Darla. An impressive feat, as you should know. Like I once said, it’s so hard to find good help these days.”

“Most people fail to find you amusing, Spike. It’s not a character flaw.”

Spike hid a smile. That was quicker than he’d thought. “I’m wounded, Sire. My sparkling personality’s famous. Your little Slayer certainly thought so.”

“Drusilla clearly didn’t, seeing as she’s nowhere to be found.”

Snarling, Spike was in front of Angel in a flash. Grabbing one of the rods impaling Angel’s chest, he twisted viciously. Angel visibly bit back a scream.

“Don’t you dare mention her name.” Another twist, and this time Angel gasped aloud. “You ruined her, and now I get to watch Marcus ruin you. And then, I’ll take the ring and go back to Sunnyhell, and ruin your girl. Claim my third Slayer. And the only thing you’ll be thankful for is that you’ll be too dead to see it.” One more twist, but this time Angel laughed. 

“You’re an idiot, Spike. If you believe he won’t stab you in the back when he’s finished, you deserve what’s coming.”

“Yes, but I’ll be ready for him, and you’ll be dead.”

“Spike, my boy.” Angel smiled, dark and arrogant and familiar enough to make Spike’s undead heart twist. “You’re still not thinking large enough.” 

Spike growled. How dare Angel slip back into that role so comfortably? How dare he pretend to care? 

“I taught you better than that, boy.” 

Spike clapped a hand over Angel’s mouth, unwilling to hear another word from that voice. The silky, confident tones that haunted Spike’s dreams, memories of hunting and fighting and fucking from York to Paris to Rome and back again. Sometimes with Darla and Dru, his dark goddess. And sometimes with only Angelus, learning from his powerful, entrancing Sire. 

Angel stared back at him, mockingly, as if he knew what Spike was thinking. _Bastard_. Spike would show him. Things had changed. Spike was on top now.

Before he could second-guess himself, Spike grabbed a fistful of short, dark hair and yanked Angel’s head back. Surging forward, he smashed their mouths together. Angel’s shock was apparent, and it was easy for his tongue to force its way in and devour Angel from the inside out. Angel’s mouth beneath his felt like home.

Spike pressed closer, heedless of the pokers still marring Angel’s chest. His hands ran over the contours of Angel’s body, feeling the muscles slide under smooth, cool skin, groping handfuls of hard flesh. Angel was moaning into his mouth, out of mutual lust or protest, Spike couldn’t tell. He reached for the waistband of Angel’s trousers and paused. Still moaning, Angel bucked his hips forward. With a smile, Spike made short work of the clothing. 

Separating from Angel’s mouth was difficult, but Spike also wanted to see his prize. Angel hung in his chains, muscles displayed beautifully, his cock standing proudly at attention. 

“Beautiful,” Spike murmured, eyes drinking in the pretty picture he made.

“Spike, don’t you dare,” Angel growled, but the order was half-hearted. 

Grinning, Spike sank to his knees and lowered his mouth over his Sire’s waiting cock. The size and weight was familiar on his tongue, but the soft moans from above were new. Angelus was always silent in his pleasure, unless that pleasure came from active torture. Angel whimpered and moaned when Spike swirled his tongue just right. Spike took his time, getting reacquainted with Angel’s body. His hands caressed Angel’s thighs and hips, stroking the soft skin. It had been over a century since he’d had this. In Sunnydale, Angelus had ignored Spike in favour of Drusilla’s attentions. 

As Angel’s moans grew louder, Spike let his blunt teeth run softly along the length of Angel’s flesh. He gripped Angel’s hips more firmly, holding the now writhing vampire still against his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, Spike sucked hard, and Angel shouted his pleasure above him. Spike opened his throat and swallowed Angel’s cock. He reveled in the way Angel screamed his name. Angelus had certainly never done that! 

As he sucked and swallowed, Spike let his hands travel from Angel’s hips to his firm ass. Slowly, he began circling Angel’s entrance with one finger. He pushed his way inside, and Angel bucked against him and mewled. Angel’s channel was tight and cool, but dry. That wouldn’t do. Withdrawing his finger, Spike drew his nail sharply against the crease of Angel’s thigh. The blood let Spike press two fingers inside. Angel whined above him, but he wasn’t snarling threats, so Spike pressed on. 

Spike circled his fingers, slowly opening Angel up. Angelus had never allowed this before, Spike wasn’t even sure if he’d been on the receiving end of anyone. Maybe the Master, the ugly bugger. Or Darla, she was a kinky bitch. Shaking his head, Spike focused his attention back on the matter at hand. Angel was his, at least for today. And no one, not even Angel himself, was going to deny him this.

The erection in his mouth was beginning to flag, and Spike sucked harder. Keeping his fingers still, he circled his tongue around the head, trying to remember what Angelus liked. Once Angel was duly distracted, Spike slipped a third finger inside. Angel’s thighs were taut and straining on either side of his head, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Soon Angel was coming down his throat. Spike swallowed greedily, lapping up Angel’s seed, before letting the cock fall from his lips with a wet plop. 

Angel came down from his orgasm, his eyes fluttering open, Spike’s illusion of comfort, of family, of home vanished. Those dark eyes were filled with shame and guilt, instead of lust. Angel’s mouth worked noiselessly, clearly trying to find the words, to apologize or worse, spurn what had just happened. Spike felt his anger stir to life again.

Before Angel could speak, Spike jammed his fingers deeper inside his Sire. Angel screamed. He bucked and writhed, but his chains rather hampered his effectiveness. Spike shoved a third finger inside, circling and stretching. Above him, Angel growled in warning, but Spike ignored that in favor of opening up Angel’s ass. 

“Spike, when I get free, you won’t be able to move for a week!”

“That a promise, love?”

Spike added a fourth finger, and something deep inside tore. Blood trickled over his hand and leaked down Angel’s thigh. Moving behind him, Spike bent his head to lap it up. Delicious. He worked his fingers inside, fast and violent. Soon, all four fingers were slamming in and out, causing the blood to flow freely. Spike sighed as he drank. Angelus had always been stingy with his blood, but he remembered a few nights of lazily nursing from Angelus’ veins, usually after Spike had fucked up Angelus and Darla’s plans, and they had thrashed him senseless for it. Those times were among his fondest, darkest memories.

It was time. Angel’s hole was stretched and gaping, raw and bloody. Spike twisted his wrist as he worked his thumb inside. Soon, his entire hand was inside his Sire. Angel howled. Grinning, Spike clenched his hand and began to brutally fist-fuck his captive. His rival. His enemy. His Sire. Angel’s muscles clamped down on his fist as he moaned and screamed. But he still wasn’t calling for Spike to stop. And so Spike didn’t. Rising, he wrapped his free arm around Angel’s bared waist and continued to force his fist deep inside. Spike bit down on Angel’s shoulder, just above that ridiculous griffin tattoo. The blood flowed over his tongue and down his throat. He drank and fisted and rubbed his own erection against Angel’s thigh. And Angel pushed back against him, letting Spike take his fill. They moved together in a building frenzy, until Spike spilled all over Angel’s thighs and ass. Angel sagged in his embrace.

Spike worked his hand free from the battered hole and lapped at the wound on Angel’s shoulder. Almost reluctantly, he pulled up and fastened Angel’s trousers. Marcus would be back soon. The Gem of Amara was close. This changed nothing, Spike told himself. Nothing.


End file.
